Come A Little Bit Closer
by Turquoise O'Sullivan
Summary: Selma Alexander wanted to remember her life from before. She had fragments, but she wanted to remember more. She wanted to understand. Maybe if she found the man that seemed to frequent those fragmented memories, she'd be able to figure everything out. [Bucky x OFC] [Set in-between WINTER SOLDIER and CIVIL WAR]
1. Prologue

_Come a little bit closer_  
 _You're my kind of man_  
 _So big and so strong_  
 _Come a little bit closer_  
 _I'm all alone_  
 _And the night is so long_

-Come A Little Bit Closer; **by Jay and the Americans**

* * *

 ** _Brooklyn, New York, 1933_**

* * *

The first time Selma Alexander saw him, she was leaving the market after getting food for her aunt. She was trying to get home, and that was when she felt him looking at her. It was unsettling. Selma was accustomed to people looking at her — though their gazes weren't exactly _friendly_ — but there was something about his gaze that just didn't go over well with her. When she worked up the nerve to look over at him, the corners of his mouth turned up into a small smile. Selma's heart stopped. That very moment, she convinced herself he was up to something. He _had_ to be. No white man ever looked at her like that. When she looked away, she walking away as quickly as she could.

That had been the first time she would come across James Buchanan Barnes.

 **O.O.O.O**

For weeks after that first encounter, Selma tried convincing herself that she'd never see him again. That there was no way in hell he'd ever be dumb enough to try and track her down; and for a while, she did manage to believe that. In no way, shape, or form did she ever run into him. Her next trip to the market had gone as well as she expected it to be. A few nasty looks here and there, maybe a few whispers to go along with those looks, but nothing she hadn't encountered before. Though she had to admit, the whole idea of her living in Brooklyn was to get away from the hostilities of her hometown in Virginia. Her mother, Ginny, had sent Selma and her sisters to live with relatives in the North when money became tight. Selma and her family came from a hardworking but struggling African American family, and the idea of having to be separated hurt. Selma was close to her sisters, especially her three-year-old sister, Minnie. It hurt more than words could express, having to leave Minnie.

Thankfully, Selma knew the addresses to where her sisters would be living, and made sure to write to them every week.

But, unfortunately, even living in the North had its difficulties. There wasn't as much violence as there had been in the South, but there were still so many people who looked at Selma as if she were trash. Whenever she walked down the streets, people gave her looks. There were a few instances where she wouldn't be doing anything but walking, and people would follow her. There was one instance, when Selma first moved to Brooklyn when she was thirteen, where she was walking back to her Aunt Janet's apartment after running an errand, and a few young boys — they had to be a year or two older than Selma — started chasing her and yelling insults. No one did anything. No one cared.

Selma had eventually tripped and cut her knees open, not far from her aunt's apartment building. The boys laughed. The only reason they didn't do anything else was because Selma's aunt ran out and started screaming at them. There had been a lot of trouble after that. A lot of things Selma didn't want to mention.

But after living in Brooklyn for three years, Selma started to adapt. She adjusted herself to her new surroundings and made sure make herself as invisible as possible. And it worked, until that day at the market. When that _boy_ was looking at her.

And while she was grateful in not having to see him for weeks after that first encounter, she was almost mortified when she saw him again.

 **O.O.O.O**

The _second_ time Selma Alexander saw him, she was walking down the street. Thankfully, though, he was with a friend. His friend was small and scrawny, almost sickly looking. But despite his sickly appearance, he seemed rather lively and boyish. The scrawny friend didn't even look Selma's way, but his friend did. James Buchanan Barnes looked at her and gave another small smile.

Swallowing thickly, Selma quickened her pace.

He _had_ to have something planned. That feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn't go away. Even though the chances of them running into each other a second time seemed unlikely, it happened again and she couldn't help but feel unsettled by it, even if it was some kind of coincidence.

 **O.O.O.O**

The third and final time she encountered James, Selma had been hanging out with some of the other kids in her apartment building. It had been at least two months since she first noticed him and about three and a half weeks since she saw him the second time. Selma didn't even notice him at first; she was so engrossed with the other kids, she didn't notice him looking at her. Selma and the other kids had been walking through the streets, talking and laughing, when one of the boys in their small group pointed out a "white kid giving them looks". When Selma turned to see who the others were looking at, she felt as if her heart would jump into her throat. It was him. How was Selma supposed to react? Looking away, she quickly turned in the other direction where her home was.

"Hey, where're you going?" Will, one of her neighbors, exclaimed.

"I forgot I needed to help my aunt around the place." Throwing a forced smile Will's way, Selma hoped she looked and sounded convincing enough. "I'll be sure to see you guys another time, right?" she exclaimed. The other kids looked at each other for a moment before going to their destination. Taking a deep breath, Selma continued on her way back to her apartment. If she could at least get back, then she wouldn't have to deal with _him_. She didn't even get five steps before she heard a voice calling out to her. She slowed her pace before picking it up. The sounds of footsteps behind her made Selma unconsciously flinch. Before she could take a step further, her path was blocked. James stood in front of her, his blue eyes wide as he caught his breath.

"Hey," he said, still sounding a little breathless. A small smile came on his face. "Hey."

Selma took a hesitant step back. Looking back to where her friends had been, she noticed how they were too far away to really see or hear what was going on. An uneasiness settled in the pit of her stomach. "What do you want?" she muttered. "I haven't done a single damn thing to you."

"I just wanted to come talk to you," he said. "I've seen you a few times. I-I mean. . . .you've seen me, too, but. . . ."

" _What do you want_?" The question was repeated with more emphasis, harsher and with a hint of fear underneath. That seemed to catch his attention.

"If you think I'm going to hurt you, I'm not," he exclaimed. He sounded a little defensive. "I'm not like that. I don't _want_ to be like that."

"Bullshit," Selma hissed.

"Look, when I heard, a couple years ago, about someone moving into that apartment building downtown, I didn't think much of it," he explained, "but I. . . ."

"I don't have time for this," Selma interrupted.

"Just. . . .I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," he exclaimed. "I wanted to say. . . .I mean. . . .I heard Janet Duchannes had a niece, but I didn't think. . . ." The scowl on Selma's face caused James to stop his stuttering. Clearing his throat, James tried straightening his shoulders. "I'm James Buchanan Barnes," he exclaimed. "And. . . ." When he paused, he studied the scowl on Selma's face, the defensive way she stood. He knew what he was going to say next was going to be greeted with disbelief and maybe even some yelling. In all honesty, he had noticed Selma a while before she noticed him. There was just something about her that really caught his attention. Was it the way she held herself? She had a level of confidence about her, though she kept to herself most of the time. Despite Selma having lived in Brooklyn for only three years, and James not noticing her until not that long ago, he felt something stirring inside him that he'd never felt.

"And what?" Selma's clipped voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"And I think. . . .I think I want to get to know you," he replied. It wasn't a complete lie, but it was better than saying what he originally planned on saying. "I really want to know you."

* * *

 ** _Siberia, 2014_**

* * *

"Are you sure about this?"

Looking at the cryotube, there was a heavy silence. Since H.Y.D.R.A.'s downfall, things only seemed to be getting worse. Operation Insight had been foiled by Captain America, one of his Avengers companions, and a civilian. Alexander Pierce had been killed. All of H.Y.D.R.A.'s data had been released onto the internet. The Winter Soldier had gone rogue. The very foundation of H.Y.D.R.A. had been torn from under them in just a couple days. What were they supposed to do? For one, get the Soldier back. And it was either release the twins before they could master their powers, or release her. When Operation Insight had been a mere idea, even before it was a flicker in anyone's eye, she had been useful; but Pierce had deemed her unnecessary for Insight's progression. The Winter Soldier, given _his_ specialized training, had been considered useful. She'd remain in cryostasis until the Operation's completion.

Given the Operation's failure, she was needed. Since the twins' powers were still out of control, she was their last hope. Her training had been brutal, though not _as_ harsh as the Winter Soldier's. Some held different views on that, however.

An older man, sporting a nice suit and slicked back graying-black hair, let out a slightly frustrated sigh. He could faintly see her face through the cryotube's small, frosted window near the top. She looked to be somewhere in her mid to late twenties, her black hair falling around her face. She almost looked peaceful.

"She's our last choice." The older man pursed his lips. "She'll have to do."*

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **Holy cow I am so, so sorry for making you guys wait however long it took me to post this chapter. In all honesty, I got a brain fart halfway through this so I had to rewrite this chapter three times before I finally decided to just stick with what I was writing and move on. This isn't my favorite chapter, despite it being the first one, since I was just struggling so much with it. I** **wanted** **to make something a little different — not super, ridiculously different, but still** **— but for some reason my brain wasn't cooperating with me. I'd have an idea, I would go to write it down, but my brain would make it hard to properly write down what I wanted to express. MOVING ON.**

 **Do I own anything in the MCU? No. No I don't.**

 **If there's anything — and I am super serious about this, too** **— that comes off as confusing or unclear, don't hesitate to PM me or just leave a review to remind me. I'll explain it either in the PM you sent or I'll explain it in the next chapter in the author's note. But, seriously, if I don't know what's bothering you guys, I don't know what to clarify for you guys.**

 **Anywho~**

 **Be kind to one another, don't text and drive, and I hope you guys enjoy whatever nice weather comes your way.**

 **Thanks.**

 **Sully**


	2. Chapter 1: Dear God

_Dear God_  
 _Sorry to disturb you, but_  
 _I feel I should be heard loud and clear_  
 _We all need a big reduction in the amount of tears_  
 _And all the people that you made in your image_  
 _See them fighting in the street_  
 _'cause they can't make opinions meet about God_

-Dear God; **by Lawless, feat. Sydney Wayser**

* * *

 ** _Brooklyn, New York, 1936_**

* * *

"How's Steve doing?" Selma looked at Bucky anxiously. Steve's mother had recently passed away from illness, and it hit him very hard. Steve's mother, Sarah, had been the only family member he had left, so when her health started diminishing, it left him devastated. It left Bucky devastated, as well, considering he held such a good relationship with Steve's mother.

Sighing, Bucky wrapped his arms around Selma's waist, pressing his chest flush against her back. "He's not doing well," he murmured, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I tried convincing him to stay with me, but he didn't want to."

Placing her hands on top of his, Selma let out a sigh. While her friendship with Steve had some rockiness and uncertainties in the beginning, the two ended up being close friends. It was something Bucky voiced approval and excitement in, considering most girls didn't look at Steve as anyone other than someone who was sickly looking, small, and just not at all attractive in a physical sense. Selma had expressed that she understood what it felt like to be treated differently because of _her_ physical appearance, which Bucky came to understand all too well. When he and Selma started dating, they both knew right away they'd have to keep it secret. Should anyone figure out they were in an interracial relationship, it wouldn't end well at all. In more ways than one, it would end violently. Thankfully, though, Bucky and Selma managed to maintain their affair in secret. Steve knew not to tell anyone either, considering he was so happy to see Bucky happy and in such a healthy — to a certain degree — relationship.

"I think he'll be fine," she murmured, leaning back against him. "He's strong."

"We should still be there for him." Bucky placed a soft kiss on Selma's shoulder. "He's our friend."

Nodding wordlessly, Selma turned her head slightly to look at her boyfriend. Bucky's face was solemn, his eyes distant. It broke Selma's heart, seeing him look like that. Bucky was usually so charming, so enthusiastic; but she knew how much Steve meant to him. Bucky was protective of Steve, always looking out for him to make sure nothing bad happened. Selma thought that was a very good quality, considering Steve had a knack for getting himself into fights. It didn't seem to matter that Steve was very underweight, that he was smaller than most men his age, or that he gets sick easily, if there was a problem he believed needed solving, either physically or verbally, he'd dive right in to save the day. That always managed to scare Bucky shitless.

"You're right," Selma sighed.

"I was planning on visiting him tomorrow. Did you want to come?"

While the question was innocent enough, Selma couldn't help but stiffen ever so slightly. She had to keep in mind the precautions that had to be taken for her and Bucky to be seen in public together. She didn't want him getting into any kind of trouble because of her. That was the last thing Selma wanted. She loved Bucky, and the last thing she wanted was for him to get hurt.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"It's just...I'd love to see Steve," she sighed, "but aren't you concerned about what people would think if they saw us together?"

There was a long silence before Selma felt her boyfriend's arms unwind themselves from around her waist. She prayed she didn't upset him, but Selma believed it was a valid question and concern. While in the North hostilities against non-whites weren't as violent, it was still bad to an extent. White men and women, children, people of any age, threw nasty looks Selma's way; they whispered about her; made sure to keep their distance even if she was at a safe distance herself.

Gently turning Selma around, Bucky looked at her with a set jaw. "Don't you ever get tired of this?" he murmured, his hands grabbing both of hers.

"Bucky..."

"No, don't you ever get tired of this?" His voice sounded firmer, angrier. "Don't you get tired of hiding _us_?"

"You know why we can't," she sighed. "You know what'll happen if anyone sees us together. It's dangerous."

"It's been what, _two years_ since we've started dating?" Bucky hissed. "What is so wrong with that?"

"Because I'm black and you're white," Selma hissed, trying to keep her voice down. "To people like you, I'm not even human. I don't count. I'll _never_ count. I may as well not even exist. It doesn't matter how badly you hate it, it doesn't matter how badly I hate it, or how much we love each other, that's how it is. You will always be better than me."

Bucky looked at Selma for a long while. For a moment, the look on his face was indescribable. He was trying to process her words, and the more they sunk in, the angrier he got. It made his throat close up, the backs of his eyes stinging with tears, his stomach knotting up, to realize that what she was saying had truth behind it. He didn't _want_ to see it from Selma's perspective — not entirely — because he believed that they were capable of overcoming any obstacles in their way. But Selma had truth to her words. In a perfect world, the two of them would be able to express themselves openly without fear of harm. He just wished they would have been given the chance to be together in a world that didn't condemn people based solely on their skin.

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **When it comes to flashbacks in this story, don't expect it to be in chronological order. The flashbacks will be random, but I hope it'll provide enough information on Selma's and Bucky's relationship — before and after they became romantically involved** **— before Bucky had been enlisted to fight. If there's anything that comes off as unclear or confusing, don't hesitate to let me know and I'll clear it up the best I can in a future update.**

 **Do I own anything in the MCU? No. No I do not.**

 **If you guys have OCs or subplots you'd like added into the story, don't hesitate to review or PM me.**

 **Be kind to one another, don't text and drive, and I hope you get to pet a dog today.**

 **Thanks.**

 **Sully**


	3. Chapter 2: Bad Moon Rising

_I see a bad moon a-rising_  
 _I see trouble on the way_  
 _I see earthquakes and lightnin'_  
 _I see bad times today_

 _Don't go 'round tonight_  
 _It's bound to take your life_  
 _There's a bad moon on the rise_

-Bad Moon Rising; **by Creedence Clearwater**

* * *

 ** _Siberia, 2014_**

* * *

It felt like it was taking longer than necessary, seeing her defrost. Watching her come out of the cryotube seemed to take an eternity, but after the medical evaluations and having her condition heavily monitored made it seem like the process lasted far too long and it made a heavy, overwhelming anxious feeling settle in the air. In that moment, the anxious feelings seemed to intensify even more so. After the H.Y.D.R.A. doctors had stated that her condition was, as usual, in perfect condition, the operatives in charge of bringing her to the remaining H.Y.D.R.A. officials. They would bring her up-to-date on her mission, and then she'd be transported to her location. What she did after that would be entirely up to her.

"How long until she regains consciousness?" one of the operatives asked.

"Shouldn't be long," another one sighed. "It usually doesn't take her long to wake up."

With a silent nod, they watched her unconscious body, standing as far from the metal berth she was laying on as possible. The monitors she had been attached to were giving off a steady beeping, and it served as the only background noise they had. The operatives had their weapons ready in case she tried something, though she never did before. It had been an instinctual reaction whenever her or the Asset were being defrosted.

It was almost unreal, though, seeing how young she looked. It seemed hard to believed that she was older than all of the current H.Y.D.R.A. members. But her youth had been a very big advantage when it came to furthering the organization's needs.

* * *

 ** _Brooklyn, New York, 1935_**

* * *

"You don't have to go yet, do you?" Bucky's voice was thick with sleep. His chest was pressed flush against Selma's back, one arm wrapped securely around her waist. Selma had managed to spend the night in his apartment, and it resulted in some physical activities that night. Because they were trying to be cautious about their relationship being exposed, that meant Selma would have to lie to her aunt about where she was going, who she was spending time with, what she was going to be doing — it hurt, having to lie to her that way. Selma loved her aunt, she didn't want to have to lie to her that way; but knowing that coming out with her relationship with Bucky would end badly, lying was the only option.

When Selma wiggled a little in Bucky's grasp, he tightened his grip on her waist. "I told my aunt I'd be back home in the morning," she murmured.

A groaned protest came from her boyfriend, who buried his face in her neck. "Stay here," he muttered. "I don't want you to go."

"I'd love to stay, honey, but I _have_ to." Gently lifting Bucky's arm off her waist, she moved his head off her neck. "Not to mention I have work today. I can't get in trouble."

Sitting himself up on his elbows, Bucky looked at Selma closely. She was holding a blanket over her chest, as if self conscious. Her hair was messy and she looked a little tired, but Bucky could practically see a glow coming off her. Bending down, he kissed her lips, one of his hands gently cradling her face. The kiss itself was slow and lazy, but it nonetheless was enough to leave Selma a bit breathless.

"Call in sick," he murmured into the kiss. "I'm sure they'll understand."

Carefully pushing Bucky off her, Selma let out a sigh and closed her eyes for a moment. She would've had no problem spending the day with Bucky, but she didn't want to overstay her welcome. It had been difficult enough getting into his apartment building without drawing suspicion to herself, the last thing she wanted was to stay longer than she had to.

"James, as much as I want to stay with you, I can't," she said quietly. "I _have_ to go. If I don't get back, then my aunt will have a fit."

Pouting slightly, Bucky nodded. He had a vague idea on how Selma's aunt could act. She was sort of irrational at the best of times, coming to the worst possible conclusions when it involved her niece. Bucky knew how much his girlfriend loved her aunt, but she could sometimes get overwhelmed by her at the same time. Sitting up, Bucky watched as his girl got dressed. Neither of them spoke to each other in that short time, but they occasionally would glance over at each other and give a small smile.

Once Selma was dressed and presentable, she was about to head out the door when Bucky stopped her.

* * *

 ** _United States, 2014_**

* * *

Despite the super soldier serum allowing his wounds and injuries to heal faster than normal, Steve still had to spend a good amount of time in the hospital for the ones he sustained.* Sam had visited him every day since the Triskelion. Steve had been very thankful that Sam hadn't gotten severely injured; but that didn't mend the guilt he had for the amount of damage and potential deaths that occurred in D.C. In more ways than one, Steve blamed himself for all the damages that happened, since he seemed so driven to get Bucky to remember him.

Every time Steve was reminded of Bucky being alive, it sent his heart into his throat and his stomach into a knot. His best friend since childhood was alive. Ever since he had been defrosted, Steve had been under the assumption all his friends and family had died long ago; Peggy had miraculously been the exception, though she did suffer from Alzheimer's. The day he found out about Peggy being alive, he dropped everything to go see her. Steve prepared himself for what he'd see when it came to her, considering it had been over seventy years since he'd seen her last. But when she could barely remember him for any longer than a couple minutes at best, it broke Steve's heart. He always admired her, he adored her strength and courage; so seeing her so worn out and unable to remember anything seemed to assure him that maybe he was alone after all.

For Peggy, Alzheimer's wasn't curable. For Bucky, for whatever damage H.Y.D.R.A. did to him, it could be reversed. Only time could tell how long it would take, and if Steve managed to find him.

Turning his head slightly, he saw Sam sitting on a chair by his bed, reading a book while some Marvin Gaye songs played in the background. Steve still had a lot of catching up to do when it came to modern music; or any music past when he entered the war. Steve came to understand that Sam was very passionate about "classic" music, and Steve was learning from that. He found Sam's taste in music good, but he still had no clue who most of the artists were.

"You doing okay?" Sam's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Do I need to get a nurse?"

"No, I'm good."

"You're almost out of here," Sam sighed, marking his place in his book.

Steve just nodded.

"You're gonna look for him?" The question was innocent and vague, but Steve knew the meaning behind it.

"...I have to," Steve sighed. "He's out there, confused and probably being hunted. I can't just leave him."

Nodding, Sam reopened his book to where he left off. While he would've liked it if Steve took some time off to really heal — despite him being a super soldier — it seemed Steve wanted to go out and save his friend. To put himself in more danger before he had a chance to truly heal. While he may not like the idea, Sam would go with him. The idea of Steve going out there by himself just didn't feel right.

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **Sorry immensely for making you guys wait, but here's the latest chapter. If anything came off as confusing, uncertain, or just poorly written in any way, don't hesitate to PM me or even leave a review and I'll clear it up the best I can.**

 **Do I own anything in the MCU? No. No I do not.**

 **What'd you guys think of the little Steve's POV? Since I hadn't mentioned him yet, I thought it'd be at least okay to show what he thought about everything.**

 **If you have ideas on subplots or OCs, don't hesitate to let me know. Leave a review or PM me on any ideas you've got. I'll try and add them in as quickly as possible.**

 **Be kind to one another, don't text and drive, and may your summer be fun and enjoyable.**

 **Thanks.**

 **Sully**


	4. Chapter 3: Mama

_And when we go don't blame us, yeah_  
 _We'll let the fires just bathe us, yeah_  
 _You made us oh, so famous_  
 _We'll never let you go_  
 _And when you go, don't return to me, my love_

-Mama; **by My Chemical Romance**

* * *

 _ **Brooklyn, New York, 1937**_

* * *

"Doll? Are you here?" Bucky's voice echoed through his apartment. Selma had spent a better part of the day cooped up in her boyfriend's apartment, doing some cleaning here and there, plus some cooking. Bucky had gone off to do a little shopping — something he didn't do often, so Selma would occasionally do it for him — but he had been acting odd lately. Recently, it was announced that America had joined the war, and plenty of young, capable men had been recruited to fight. Selma knew that there would be a high possibility of Bucky being drafted, but she _prayed_ he didn't.

"In here," she called. Walking into the living room, Bucky gave her a small smile. He saw Selma sitting on the sofa with the radio on. Bucky noticed how she'd listen to the radio more frequently since the announcement, and he found it admirable but also a bit heartbreaking. She was so worried, and she had a reason to be. When Selma looked up at him, seeing the bags in Bucky's arms, she immediately stood up and took some of the bags out of his arms. They were a bit heavy, but nothing she couldn't handle. "You were gone for a while," Selma commented. "Did everything go alright?"

"Everything went fine." Following her into the kitchen, Bucky placed the remaining bags on the counter. "I have to tell you something."

The way Selma froze made Bucky freeze. Bucky noticed how his girlfriend's shoulders tensed, how she straightened her back so rigidly Bucky swore it must've hurt. When Selma turned to look at him, she felt her heart beating so hard in her chest it felt painful. Her stomach knotted up when she saw a flicker of something in Bucky's eyes. "What is it?" she asked quietly.

"Ellie," Bucky sighed. "I got drafted."

Selma flinched at that. A lightheaded sensation came over her, causing her to place her hands on the counter to steady herself, after she placed the grocery bags down. In a way, Selma should've seen it coming. Bucky was physically capable of fighting in the war, it wouldn't make much sense for him _not_ to be drafted. But for Selma, she didn't want him to leave her. James Buchanan Barnes was the one good thing that happened to her since she moved in with her aunt. He made her feel safe and wanted. Bucky didn't look at her as if she were a freak of nature, as if she didn't belong. Once he was overseas fighting, Selma would be alone. She'd have to live with the knowledge that he could die at any moment.

"Drafted?" she murmured, her voice so soft Bucky had to strain to hear it.

"Yeah," he replied. "I'll be leaving for training soon."

"How soon?"

"Two weeks from now."

Taking a deep breath, Selma let it out before burying her face in her hands. Bucky felt his chest tighten, a feeling of dread and guilt filling him. He had known of his draft for the past couple days, he just didn't know how to tell her.

"Selma, listen, I'm sorry...," Bucky tried. He had said Selma, not Ellie. The nickname he'd given her.

"I think I should go," Selma said quickly. Leaving the kitchen, she gathered her belongings before being stopped.

"Please don't leave." Bucky had grabbed her forearm, hoping that she'd at least stay long enough to hear his explanation. He could faintly see her face, hidden behind some of her hair. She looked upset, and she had a reason to be. Selma's breathing was labored, and she was trembling slightly. "Ellie," he said softly, "please. Don't leave yet."

"I don't think I should be here." There was a slight pause. "How long did you know?"

"Not long."

"How _long_?" Selma pressed.

"A few days." Bucky's eyes cast downward.

Letting out a scoff, Selma looked at him; her eyes were filled with tears. "You knew but you didn't tell me until now?" she exclaimed, her voice cracking. "Were you just going to leave without telling me?"

"I was going to tell you," he exclaimed. "I didn't know how to."

Shaking her head, Selma quickly wiped her eyes. Bucky hesitantly placed both hands on her shoulders, turning her so she'd see him head on. Her eyes wouldn't meet his, and that broke his heart.

"Two weeks?" she whispered. He nodded. "What am I supposed to do while you're gone? I don't..."

Wrapping his arms around her, Bucky held Selma close, his nose burying into her hair. Selma's arms wrapped around his middle, her hands clinging to the back of his shirt desperately. "Why don't you try out for being a nurse?" he suggested, trying to keep his tone hopeful.

"I don't have medical training, Bucky," she sighed. "Besides, even if I did, I wouldn't be allowed to treat the white soldiers."

Bucky nodded slowly. She was right. Selma wouldn't be allowed anywhere near the white soldiers. "We can make it work," he whispered. "We'll figure something out, OK? Don't get yourself worried sick over me."

* * *

 _ **Siberia, 2014**_

* * *

Her eyes opened, blinking away the bleariness that clouded it. Her body ached, the muscles and joints stiff from lack of use thanks to cryostatis. She heard the familiar sounds of beeping, the medical equipment. Taking a deep breath, she was very aware of the slight burn in her lungs, as well as the burn in her throat as she exhaled.

"We have a mission for you." The sound of a man's voice immediately sent her eyes in the direction it came from. "Once you're at your full potential, you'll be expected to prepare yourself effective immediately. Understood?"

Turning her head slightly, she saw two agents standing at the far end of the room. Their hands were on their guns, their stances defensive. Narrowing her eyes slightly, she understood that in her current state, if she tried anything, they'd shoot her dead in a heartbeat. She had been trained for God knows how many years to be one of their best assassins, to be at peak physical and psychological condition. That's what she understood, at least. She was aware of plenty of fuzzy areas, but she knew those areas were of no importance. H.Y.D.R.A. had her for a purpose, for a _reason_. With a single command, she could eliminate any threat on H.Y.D.R.A.'s radar — political leaders, high power businessmen or businesswomen, rising superheroes; whoever H.Y.D.R.A. deemed a "threat". That was the main reason Operation Insight had been created; with the elimination of every single H.Y.D.R.A. threat at once, there'd be no one getting in the way. Humanity would be under H.Y.D.R.A.'s control, just the way it was supposed to be.

"Do we have an understanding?" The agent who spoke was putting extra emphasis on his words, showing distress and slight irritation. He was trying to come across as someone who was intimidating, someone she should fear, but he wasn't. He was far from it. She had faced many opponents who were far more terrifying than him. With a single nod, he swallowed thickly before nodding in return.* A knock came from the other side of the door, causing the two agents to flinch involuntarily. Her eyes followed their movements to the best of her ability. She wanted to make sure she knew what they did at all costs. When the door to her room opened, she heard them stand at attention.

"Is she ready?" Another man's voice.

"S-She just woke up, sir," the other agent stammered.

With a grumble, the two agents shuffled out of the way, and a middle aged man came into her view. His dark brown hair was graying at the tips, even more so on his sideburns. He had wrinkles on the corners of his eyes and heavily around his mouth. The suit he wore did no mercy on his potbelly, though he did have a swiftness about him for someone that size. His green eyes were hidden behind thick glasses. "Well, at least you're awake," he grumbled, looking down at her with intense criticism. "In all honesty, I don't find it necessary to use you, but the twins are too unstable to be sent out. You're the only _useful_ thing we've got around here."

Her eyes remained focused on him, studying every little detail, pointing out every kill spot she had easy access to. It was obvious the man in front of her was powerful in H.Y.D.R.A. standards, and any attack she performed on him would result in immediate execution. She just liked to keep her mind focused, to go over the trainings she received over the years. Like how a simple hit in certain areas could result in instant death.

"What you don't know is that Operation Insight is a failure," the older man went on. "Most importantly, the Asset's on the run. We need him back, before he exposes more of our secrets."

"More?" Her voice was raspy, her throat hurting from the sudden use of it.

The man shook his head. "You'll be sent to America," he explained, "to retrieve the Asset before he does any severe damage. We can't afford anything else going wrong." His eyes met hers for a second before he looked away. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

She set her jaw. "Of course."

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **A somewhat long chapter, and hopefully it was an interesting one at that. If you've got ideas on how to improve it, don't hesitate to let me know, OK? I'd appreciate it greatly.**

 **I own nothing in the MARVEL universe, only an excitement for THOR RAGNAROK.**

 **For anyone who's in the Florida area, who's going to be impacted by Hurricane Irma, I hope and pray you guys stay safe. You're all so important, and I don't want anything happening to you guys. With all this stuff going on, with hurricanes and wildfires and even earthquakes, I just want everyone to be as safe as possible. This may not be enough for anyone who's suffering through the tragedies that're going on, but I just wanted to get that out there.**

 **Anyway, let me know what needs improvement.**

 **If you've got an OC you'd like to add, or even a subplot, don't hesitate to let me know. I'll add it in as soon as possible.**

 **Be kind to one another, don't text and drive, and be careful.**

 **Thanks.**

 **Sully**


	5. Chapter 4: Spicks and Specks

_Where is the sun_  
 _That shone on my head_  
 _The sun in my life_  
 _It is dead_  
 _It is dead_  
 _Where is the light_  
 _That would play_  
 _In my streets_  
 _And where are the friends_  
 _I could meet_  
 _I could meet_

-Spicks and Specks; **by Bee Gees**

* * *

 ** _Siberia, 2014_**

* * *

Once she had reached her full strength, she had been taken out of the medical room and into the weapons storage unit. She needed to get a feel of what weapons would be necessary for the mission. That was the important part. The Asset was infamous in the H.Y.D.R.A. community - it'd be nearly impossible for someone to _not_ know who he was. For her, on the other hand, she had brief knowledge on him. She knew he was a skilled assassin, having been with H.Y.D.R.A. for as long, if not longer, as she. He could easily take down targets and be gone within _minutes_. From what she understood, no one ever lived to know what he looked like. But then again, she couldn't know for sure. H.Y.D.R.A. made sure to keep her knowledge of him to a bare minimum. Why? She couldn't say. Nor was it her place to mention. Her job was to do what H.Y.D.R.A. wanted, to take out those who posed a threat to their cause.

Now, there was no cause. Operation Insight, the plan H.Y.D.R.A. had been aiming towards for so long, had been destroyed. The Asset was on the run. Now _she_ was expected to fix whatever she could throw together. It was for the greater good, right? To help out the organization who forced her to undergo rigorous training? The organization who abused her, mentally and physically _(thought it's not like she remembered most of it)_? Why was she even fighting for H.Y.D.R.A. to begin with? How had she tangled herself into that mess? It didn't make sense. But, again, she knew better than to mention that. Actually, she shouldn't even be thinking like that to begin with. Any signs of betrayal meant instant elimination. H.Y.D.R.A. assassins were trained to be at the peak of physical perfection. Their minds were to be trained so intensely that they shouldn't even be _wanting_ to be thinking of anything other than strategy. What were the easiest places on a human body to kill someone? What escape routes should be used once the mission was completed? How could a target be taken down with no traces left behind? All those questions had to be answered in a split second. She _had_ to know how to take down a target without leaving a trace. She _had_ to know which areas of the human body meant they could be killed instantly. She _had_ to know which escape routes would get her to her next destination in the quickest amount of time. She had to know which weapons would be the most effective. It was basic knowledge.

At least, that was how it felt.

"You've been very useful to H.Y.D.R.A. over the years," the higher up exclaimed. "I've heard plenty of good things about you. Especially from Mr. Pierce."

Pierce? The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn't put a face to it. Obviously Pierce had some kind of important role in the organization, or else he wouldn't have been mentioned.

"He oversaw a lot of your missions," he went on. "I suppose his fondness of you had a bit of influence on why I chose to awaken you."

Was that a compliment? It was hard to tell. The man's voice was stern, making it impossible to know what he was truly feeling. Though it made sense that he'd keep his emotions in check in that way. H.Y.D.R.A. was good at emotional manipulation, it made it easier to fulfill certain needs. That was why they had so many members. A lot of H.Y.D.R.A.'s members did have a dream of creating a world under their control, but plenty of the members were there solely because they had been manipulated into doing so. She understood that the human mind was fragile, that anyone could be told to do anything with a little persuasion.

"But he's no longer important." The man's face twisted into a scowl. "For now, focus on the mission. Find the Asset, bring him back. Once he's in our custody again, we'll be able to regain control and build H.Y.D.R.A. back."

He looked at her, as if to get some form of verification. He wanted to ensure that she understood what he was saying. She understood what he wanted the first time he explained it, and she couldn't comprehend why he felt the need to keep talking about it. The Asset's rogue behavior was putting the remnants of H.Y.D.R.A. into danger, and that was something that could not be tolerated. When she looked at him, however, she made sure her expression was as stony as always. If he knew she felt a twinge of irritation at what she believed to be redundancy, there would possibly be consequences. So she nodded. She'd give him the satisfaction that she wanted to hear a reworded addition to what he wanted done.

"Once you're ready to go, you'll be taken to the platform where you'll be escorted to the States." His eyes glinted with an unknown emotion, one that made her eyes narrow just a fraction of an inch. "I want a confirmed recapture, one hundred-twenty hours. Understood?"

"Understood."

* * *

 ** _Brooklyn, New York; 1938_**

* * *

It was hard for Selma, having to adapt to Bucky being enlisted. How was she supposed to feel? He seemed happy to be able to serve his country, but she had to wonder if he was scared. She was certainly scared _for_ him. What if he never came back? If he _did_ manage to come back, what if he wasn't the same person? What if the war damaged him so badly - mentally, physically, or both - that he'd never be the same person? Selma wasn't sure how to comprehend something like that. It hurt her deeply to think about anything happening to her Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes would always be the charismatic man she came to love, and while she'd do her best to care for whatever version of him came home from the war, Selma knew she'd never be ready. All she wanted was a little more time with the man she knew at the moment.

And that man had just come back from basic training. Selma did have to admit, though, Bucky looked good in a uniform, there was no arguing that. But there were already signs of exhaustion and wariness in his eyes. Something that hadn't been there before. Something that made Selma's stomach twist painfully.

"How'd it go?" she asked, looking at her boyfriend anxiously. He'd been gone for a better part of six months for training, and he'd returned for a little while before being stationed off to wherever he'd be sent to. Bucky had, from Selma's knowledge, spent time with his family first, to show them he was OK. Selma completely understood that. She wasn't going to deny him quality time with his family just because she missed him and worried for him.

"It went well," he replied, his tone gentle. The couple resided in Bucky's apartment, where he stood near their bed and she stood by the doorway. "I'm moving up the ranks. Made it to sergeant before I came back."

Selma smiled somewhat forcefully. "How'd your family take it?" she asked. She unconsciously fiddled with her fingers, trying to find some kind of distraction from the dreadful feeling that was overwhelming her.

"They're proud," Bucky said. "Rebecca's excited, but she's worried sick. So's ma..." His voice trailed off a bit at that. Bucky's youngest sister, Rebecca, idolized her eldest brother, from what Selma could tell. The two had a good relationship; in fact, Bucky had a good relationship with all his siblings. From what Selma understood, Bucky's family was very close.

"Good..."

There was a moment of heavy silence. Selma looked down at the ground, unable to make herself look at her boyfriend. In all honesty, Selma was really happy for Bucky. He was a sergeant, he was doing well in his training, everything seemed to be going well for him. But that was just _training_. That didn't compare to going out and fighting actual Nazis. That didn't compare to seeing comrades get severely wounded or die. Or even having to deal with the fact that comrades could very well be taken prisoner by the enemy. Selma just couldn't stomach the thought of that happening to Bucky.

Selma's obvious hesitation was clear to Bucky. He knew that she was trying to be as supportive as possible, that she was trying to find some kind of silver lining out of everything that was happening. Despite all of that, Bucky could tell that she was struggling. Her hesitation was to stop her from getting her hopes up, that he might come out alive and well. That maybe there was a chance he wouldn't have to fight at all. It pained Bucky to know that she felt like that. The last thing he wanted was to see her upset over his wellbeing.

"Doll, don't be upset," he said softly. "I promise I'll be back in no time. It'll be like I never even left."

"How do you know that?"

The emotion in Selma's voice caused a break in Bucky. He'd tried to stay strong for both of their sake, but hearing her say that one simple question with so much emotion caused the floodgates to open. The backs of his eyes stung with tears and he felt his chest tighten with emotion. Selma wouldn't look at him, she still fiddled with her fingers. Walking over, Bucky took both of her hands in his, holding them tightly as he looked at her. She still wouldn't look at him.

"Can you look at me? Please?" When she shook her head, Bucky gently lifted her face up. Her eyes were glassy, her jaw was set and her lips were pursed in a thin line. "Ellie," Bucky said softly, "I will _always_ come back to you. No matter what happens, we'll always be together again."

A wet chuckle escaped Selma's lips. "You've gotten sappy on me," she murmured.

A hint of a small smile came across Bucky's lips. "Anything for my girl," he replied. "But you'll remember that, right? That I'll come back to you no matter what?"

Selma nodded in response. "I'm holding you to that promise, though," she said firmly, looking at him with an unwavering expression. "You'd better come back, Barnes, or I'll be pissed."

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **Sorry for the wait on this chapter. The weather's been wacky where I'm at and it caused a power outage at my house. And because I don't have a generator of any kind, that meant I had to wait until the power was restored to finish this chapter. But if you've got any constructive criticism on this chapter, don't hesitate to let me know, OK? I'd be happy to know what you guys think.**

 **MCU doesn't belong to me. All I own are my OCs and the subplots I put in.**

 **Question Time! For anyone who's seen THOR: RAGNAROK, what did you think of it? I was planning on seeing it within the next couple days or so, and I just wanted to know what you guys thought of it. I've been hearing that the movie's got some comedy in there, which I think is a bit odd if Asgard's kinda going through an apocalypse? I don't know for sure though. Then again, Thor's in different areas of space and stuff throughout the movie so I guess comedy could fit in in that way. Anywho, I'd like to know what you guys thought of it, if you saw it.**

 **Do you have an idea for an OC or a subplot? Do you want those ideas written into the story? Just leave a PM or a review with those ideas and I'll add them in as soon as possible!**

 **Thanks a bunch.**

 **Sully**


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